


Dreamy Bruises

by nothingweird



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Coitus Interruptus, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingweird/pseuds/nothingweird
Summary: Anatole and Dolokhov decide to spend the last night of spring vacation smoking weed, which Anatole is bad at.  Dolokhov offers to shotgun him, which naturally leads to sex.  Anatole feels like their friends with benefits situation is constantly on the verge of falling apart.(with small features from: Jewish!Balaga, Slivovitz, and cuddling)





	Dreamy Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: drug use, alcohol use, lack of communication skills/vaguely unhealthy relationship dynamics, consent issues (sex while high without prior discussion about it)
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@dolokhovisterrible](https://dolokhovisterrible.tumblr.com/) (Send me prompts or talk to me about anything comet related)
> 
> Also, please let me know if you catch any typos in this.

Anatole was more of a down five shots of the cheapest vodka kind of college student than a stoner, yet even he had the self-preservation to decide to not drink the night before a long car ride. Yet again, that wasn’t necessarily true; he had done just that the week before on the way to their spring break destination. More accurately to the current situation, he had just decided that he didn’t want to repeat that experience so soon, which is how he ended up taking Dolokhov up on his offer to smoke on the last night of their vacation rather than get smashed.

A knock sounded on their hotel door. Dolokhov strode across the room and opened the door to find Balaga grinning at them and gripping a bottle of Slivovitz.

“SHOTS!” Balaga lifted the bottle.

“Only one,” Anatole said, “And where’s the chaser?”

“Fine, I’ll have more with the others before we leave then. Also, no chasers tonight.”

Anatole grimaced, “That stuff is nasty.”

“It’s also my favorite,” Dolokhov gripped Anatole’s shoulders forcefully, causing Anatole to shudder slightly, and dragged him over to Balaga, who produced three shot glasses from his worn-down coat.

After pouring and passing the drinks around, the three of them raised their glasses and downed their shots. The smell of the harsh liquor hit Anatole before the actual drink, which somehow burned even worse going down his throat. Dolokhov and Balaga looked unaffected.

“Chag Sameach!” Balaga called out before whisking away with the liquor, “Meet you downstairs in half an hour!”

Dolokhov wandered off and dug out the grinder and piece from his bag. Anatole threw himself onto the bed, dramatically kicked his legs up into the air, and watched Dolokhov work. He appreciated the way Dolokhov’s deft fingers methodically prepared everything.

“Ready Tolya?” Dolokhov asked as he carried the packed piece over to the windowsill.

Watching Dolokhov as he hoisted the window open, Anatole nodded and joined him. He barely spared a thought for the families and adults that would be staying in this hotel in the future. Dolokhov lit up the piece and smoothly took a hit, blew out the window, then passed it to Anatole with the lighter. Anatole lit it and breathed in the smoke, focusing on the complicated process of breathing at the right time and manipulating the piece and the lighter. Overwhelmed by the harsh sensation of the smoke, he started coughing violently, not being able to get passed the scratching sting. He sheepishly passed everything back to Dolokhov, feeling slightly embarrassed. Normally, he would be comfortable showing weakness in front of Dolokhov, but not being able to smoke without coughing still felt embarrassing.

“You want me to shotgun you?” Dolokhov asked.

“Sure,” Anatole tried to sound chill and unaffected by the offer, but he was simultaneously relieved at not having to look foolish and excited by the thought of Dolokhov pressing his mouth to his.

They occasionally fucked, but Anatole wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Dolokhov always went back to his dorm directly afterwards, especially when he was prone to letting Anatole curl up around him and fall asleep other nights. It wasn’t that Anatole was looking to mess with what he felt like was a delicately balanced close friendship, and he certainly wasn’t interested in monogamy. However, he prefered to not feel like he was losing part of his friendship following every orgasm they shared.

“Ready?” Dolokhov said.

Anatole nodded.

Dolokhov took a drawn out hit, sucking in around the mouth of the piece, then leaned back and turned towards Anatole. Anatole closed his eyes in anticipation, then opened his mouth when Dolokhov’s met his. He drew in the smoke as Dolokhov exhaled, feeling Dolokhov’s soft lips pressed firmly against his own. Dolokhov tangled his free hand in Anatole’s hair, pressing the two of them together and sending a thrill of arousal down Anatole’s spine. They broke apart, separating as they would from a kiss. Dolokhov raised an eyebrow at him with a small smile before Anatole turned towards the window to exhale the smoke.

“Much better,” Anatole said beginning to recover some of his usual cockiness, “Not all of us can be stoners like you.”

“Your looks make up for your lack of skills,” Dolokhov said.

Anatole couldn’t tell if that was meant to be flirting or making fun of Anatole for his vanity-- potentially both.

Dolokhov offered Anatole another hit, which he accepted. Then they repeated the process. This time, Anatole snaked an arm around Dolokhov’s waist as he breathed in Dolokhov’s breath. After two more hits, Dolokhov sifted through the ashes, then closed the window. Anatole climbed onto the bed closest to the window, splayed out face up.

“We have made a terrible mistake. How are we supposed to go to the club when all I want to do is lie here and touch soft things? How do you get high so often before we go out?” Anatole said.

“Cause making out is the best thing to do while high, and I’ve gotta go out to make out with someone.”

“Yeah, making out,” Anatole said slowly, “But there’s already two people here. We don’t even have to leave the room to make out with someone.”

Dolokhov froze. They didn’t do that. Blow jobs had been on the table previously, but kissing was crossing some unspoken line. Anatole tensed up at Dolokhov’s reaction, or he thought he was, but his body still kind of felt at ease despite the tension drawn from the situation.

“I could definitely go for a makeout session now,” Dolokhov finally said.

“Good, cause my brain is not ready to let me stop petting this blanket,” Anatole had eventually realized that he had been stoking the hotel’s shitty blanket since he had laid down.

Dolokhov flipped himself over, landing on top of Anatole, so that his whole body was flush against Anatole’s. Then he lifted himself up a bit and brought his mouth to Anatole’s.

They eased into the kiss, both of their brains slowed to a lazy crawl, yet Anatole felt like his neurons were set ablaze by the sensation of Dolokhov’s mouth guiding his open. The feel of Dolokhov’s beard against his face amplified the sensations. Dolokhov bit Anatole’s bottom lip, then lifted his head up, immediately causing Anatole to desperately chase after him, Dolokhov grinned, not cruelly, but certainly teasingly. Dolokhov shot him a smug look before delving back into exploring Anatole’s mouth, but this time he reached up to Anatole’s hair and tugged hard on it. Anatole, too preoccupied with kissing Dolokhov, didn’t notice this until he felt the sensation of Dolokhov pulling at his hair and his knuckles roughly rubbing against his scalp. Surprised, he let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan and bucked his hips. With that, Dolokhov responded by grinding down against Anatole, bracing his knees against Anatole’s sides and forcefully holding down Anatole’s chest with the hand he wasn’t using to card through Anatole’s hair. Anatole shuddered, immensely turned on by this, and waited for Dolokhov to make his next move.

“Fedya, please,” he blurted out.

Dolokhov grinned, “Please what?”

“Blow me.”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” Dolokhov sat up, grinding his erection against Anatole, leaving Anatole simultaneously aching for more and revelling in the current state of feeling trapped under Dolokhov’s weight.

“Please blow me?”

“As you wish,” he grinned.

Anatole’s mind raced, thrilled by the onslaught of sensations, he enjoyed the building anticipation and felt desperate to release every bit of control over to Dolokhov. As much as he teased Dolokhov in public and bossed him around, he knew who was really in charge.

Dolokhov shucked his shirt and pants off before stripping Anatole. As he pulled Anatole’s shirt over his head, he leaned in towards Anatole and barely over a whisper asked, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Anatole said as he nodded vigorously; he was surprised to feel his heart swell at the sudden tenderness, another marker that this time wasn’t like other times they fucked.

“Good,” Dolokhov, snapping back to his previous demeanor, tilted Anatole’s head back roughly before kissing him again.

Dolokhov broke apart from him and moved on to his neck, sucking a bruise into his skin, simultaneously pinching one of Anatole’s nipples. Anatole tilted his head back instinctively and moaned. Just as Dolokhov’s ministrations tilted towards the edge of overstimulation, he abruptly stopped both forms of contact. Anatole reached out to drag him back in, and Dolokhov responded, letting Anatole take a bit of control by allowing himself to be guided downward. Anatole relinquished control again, and Dolokhov sharply bit his inner thigh. Then he just stopped and waited.

“Please,” Anatole said.

Finally, Dolokhov took the head of Anatole’s cock into his mouth. Anatole gasped. He looked down at Dolokhov, gazing at the wonderful sight of his best friend’s mouth around him. Dolokhov wrapped his hand around the base of Anatole’s cock and pumped his fist in tandem with the movements of his mouth. His other hand scratched down Anatole’s stomach, and Anatole shivered at the sensation of Dolokhov’s nails which straddled the line between pain and pleasure just right. This transitioned into Dolokhov pushing Anatole down, preventing him from arching upwards into Dolokhov’s mouth.

Anatole was _loving_ this: his senses still heightened from smoking, which caused his brain to blur all the sensory input coming from Dolokhov’s ministrations together. The feel of his mouth and hand combined with the weight of his other hand overwhelmed Anatole in the best way possible, the kind where time lost all meaning. He had intended to say some encouraging words praising Dolokhov’s technique, but all he could be bothered into putting the energy into were moans.

He did, however, manage to be cognizant enough to let both of his hands wander into Dolokhov’s hair, tugging encouragingly. Dolokhov hummed his approval around him and rewarded him by licking the underside of Anatole’s length, then swirling his tongue around the head.

“Ah, Fedya, you look so good like this.”

Dolokhov grinned wickedly, “You can barely put a thought together, pathetic.”

Anatole responded with another sharp tug on Dolokhov’s hair. He had been trying to hold back his orgasm, to prolong the wonderful sensations, yet hearing that from Fedya caused him to lose his last thread of control.

“Fuck, Fedya I’m gonna,” but it was too late; he was coming down Dolokhov’s throat.

Despite the lack of warning, Dolokhov seemed ready, swallowing his come in a manner that looked impressively effortless from Anatole’s perspective. Anatole’s orgasm hit him in continuous waves, drawn out by Dolokhov’s continued movement and the weed’s effect of slowing time or at least vaguely blurring time together. Despite wanting to continue watching Dolokhov, he had to screw his eyes shut to deal with the fantastic yet overwhelming sensations.

As his orgasm tapered off, Anatole breathed heavily, feeling the aftershocks. His eyes fluttered open in time to watch Dolokhov pull back from him and see him lick up the tiny bit of come that run out of his mouth. A surge of desire spread through Anatole at that visual despite how wiped out he was.

“I think you’re gonna pay for that late warning,” Dolokhov maneuvered to kneel over Anatole, anchoring himself with a hand on Anatole’s chest.

Anatole grinned at Dolokhov’s tone, “What are you going to do about it?”

Dolokhov grabbed Anatole’s hand and pressed it over the bulge in his underwear, “You’re going to make me come, and you’re going to be on your knees.”

Anatole’s smile grew wider, and he dared to sit up and kiss Dolokhov, who, thankfully, responded openly. Anatole felt relieved that Dolokhov had not dropped the affectionate part of this night, and that they were still in some uncharted territory of their relationship that Anatole was very eager to continue exploring.

After Anatole broke off the kiss, Dolokhov moved aside, allowing Anatole to climb off the bed, and Dolokhov followed, sitting on the edge. Dolokhov lifted his hips to let Anatole pull his underwear off. Settled in between his thighs, he smirked at Dolokhov.

“Your mouth, my dick, now,” Dolokhov said in a tone that was commanding rather than playful.

Anatole obeyed, immediately wrapping his arms around Dolokhov’s legs to anchor himself and taking Dolokhov into his mouth. Dolokhov stayed still, allowing Anatole to set a steady rhythm. Anatole looked up through his lashes, seeking a signal of approval. Dolokhov’s eyes were blown wide, watching him intently.

Anatole deftly flicked his tongue, and Dolokhov’s mouth parted and let out a little gasp. Anatole felt satisfied with the response. He loved the feeling of fullness he got from Dolokhov’s heavy length in his mouth, and he let himself get lost in the feeling as well as the sound of Dolokhov’s breathy reactions, which once they started, did not stop.

Lost in the pleasant, yet intense feeling of knowing what he was doing to Fedya and appreciating Dolokhov’s fingers running across his scalp, he was taken completely by surprise by the loud insistent knock on the door to their room.

Anatole, paused, startled. Dolokhov let out a frustrated whine and said in a low voice, “You don’t get to stop.”

Anatole thought about it for a moment, recalled that the door was in fact dead bolted and locked, and was quick to decide that he didn’t care who was on the other side of the door and what was about to happen, which lead to him resuming his activity. Dolokhov looked pleased with Anatole’s decision.

“Hey assholes! I know you’re still here. Some of us have been pregaming in the lobby since we’re doing legal substances tonight, which means that we would have seen you two leaving without us,” Balaga called through the door.

“Anatole is the middle of blowing me right now, we can’t make it to the door,” Dolokhov said, loudly enough for Anatole to wonder just how many people in adjacent rooms knew that piece of information now. He was surprised to realize that he found that potential number kind of hot. He was making many discoveries about himself and Dolokhov that night.

Balaga laughed, “Hilarious, let’s go.”

Anatole’s heart hammered in excitement as an idea crossed his mind.

“Sorry, as I said, ah,” Dolokhov was cut off by Anatole’s sudden change of pace, delivering the exact reaction Anatole had hoped for.

“Feel free to go without us,” Dolokhov managed to eventually say.

“Oh shit, you’re serious. Alright, see you later man,” Balaga said.

“You liked that didn’t you,” Dolokhov said to Anatole after a few beats, “Well, I love that you loved that.”

Anatole flushed at the praise, and regarded the compliment by speeding up his pace again. Only a few moments later, Dolokhov grabbed Anatole’s hair sharply, the only warning sign he gave before coming down Anatole’s throat. Anatole swallowed as much as he could, definitely with more difficulty than Dolokhov had experienced. Then, continuing to pump Dolokhov through his orgasm with his hand, he pulled off to swallow, letting the remaining come hit him below his mouth. Dolokhov’s eyes remained trained on Anatole’s face as this happened.

When Dolokhov finished, Anatole, just swiped the back of his hand over his face. Dolokhov fell back onto the bed, letting himself recover.

He flopped his arm back, pointing to the nightstand between the two beds, “Bring me some tissues.”

Anatole did. Dolokhov made grabby hands at them, so Anatole passed them over, then stepped back awkwardly, unsure what to do now. Sitting back up, Dolokhov guided Anatole’s head towards him and wiped his face off. Anatole softened, immediately feeling relief and an addicting jolt of satisfaction, as incredible as the blow jobs were, this small validation meant something on a completely different level.

“Thank you Fedya,” he said softly as Dolokhov wiped himself off.

Dolokhov shoved Anatole down onto the bed, then promptly curled into the crooks of Anatole’s body. Finally, two disparate parts of their relationship began the process of fusing together, and Anatole breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped his arms around Dolokhov.


End file.
